


Making An Impression

by Kaiyoz



Series: Life Rolls On... The Series [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, And Overprotective, Bruce is awesome, But still a little Canon, Child Abuse, Clint Has Issues, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-22
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-01-26 01:48:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyoz/pseuds/Kaiyoz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Bruce start another journey... harder than any other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Impression

**Author's Note:**

> If you are new to this series, you should probably at least go over those stories for approaching this one.

Clint climbed out of the jeep and hopped excitedly as Bruce unlocked the trunk so he could scoop his bow out and race into the archery center. The boy had turned into a young man, all knees and elbows. Bruce had signed him up for time at the local archery range and occasionally time with instructors. Clint loved it and Bruce happily took him each week. 

It was a hit to Bruce’s already thin pocketbook but it was the only thing Clint truly enjoyed and he never asked for much, he was relatively cheap kid. He didn’t ask for cable, never wanted the newest styles of clothes, let Bruce buzz his hair at home, he took the bus on the rare occasion he wanted to go somewhere, so Bruce considered taking Clint to archery an easy thing to do. Some days he worried that Clint kept himself cheap simply because he worried that if he got expensive Bruce would kick him out. 

He even took Parkour for free at the local park. The teen had seen a flyer while visiting Bruce on campus and Clint had proven himself useful in teaching a few gymnastics moves or demonstrating and became something of an assistant instructor. It just made Bruce nervous. Watching his son do a handstand on the roof’s edge would make anyone a bit queasy. The intrepid teens had even made a video, Clint had proudly shown it to Bruce and Bruce had watched in horror as Clint dove two stories, tucking and rolling across the grass. 

He turned his mind back to the archery range as Clint bounced towards the range building. 

Arthur Thomas, a former Marine, was the sometimes instructor of Clint’s archery lesson and he had a special affection for the teenager. 

“Afternoon, Clint. Bruce,” Arthur said from the doorway. “You know, I was thinking today we could go down to the gun range. It’s just out back but it’s got a lot more space and it will be more challenging for Clint. What do you say, Clint?”

The younger man nodded eagerly. “Yeah! It’s outside?”

Bruce shrugged and followed a hopping Clint around the corner to the back side of an orchard where Bruce could see an area already set up for archery, fresh targets pinned up at various distances. The farthest distance was more than double what they could get at the archery range. 

“Can you shoot that far?” Bruce asked as Arthur went to get more arrows. 

Clint scoffed. “Please, I used to shoot standing on a horse. I did almost that far in the circus. It’s just more challenging, you gotta’ change angles to account for gravity or give more draw. There’s also wind.”

Bruce patted Clint on the shoulder and took a chair from the viewing area to sit next to Clint. 

Arthur came back with a friend in tow and Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

“This is my friend, John, he’s a Marine recruiter and I thought maybe he could watch Clint shoot.”

“Why?” Bruce asked suspiciously. 

Arthur got a bit nervous then, Clint saw the nervous tics and tilted his head, looking closer; he was very astute for a sixteen year old. Sometimes it unnerved Bruce that Clint could watch people and read them like a picture book, he was quick to distrust and he was usually right.

“I… well, I’m not proud, but I did a bit of bragging, and old John here doesn’t believe that I know a kid that shoots better with a bow then he does with a gun.”

Bruce’s other eyebrow joined the second on his hairline. “You bragged about MY kid? He’s just here to watch Clint shoot?”

“You made a bar bet on me?” Clint asked incredulously. “You have that ‘I’m going to make bank off this’ look on your face.”

“It’s just fifty,” Arthur assured him. “He wouldn’t have believed me if I hadn’t laid some money down on this.”

John cut in. “Who knows kid? If you are really as good as Art here says you are there might be a place for you in the Marines, especially if you can do that with a gun.”

Bruce cut him off, his tone unforgiving. “No. He’s not going into the army. He’s going to college. With my research, he’s hanging around the military enough.”

“Okay, don’t worry Papa Bear,” John said, holding his hands up. 

“Do you want to shoot, Clint?” Bruce asked, glaring at Arthur. 

Clint shrugged, looking a little pissed at Arthur too. “Sure, I might as well.”

Then Clint smiled over at John, the cockiness that ran through him when a bow was in his hand exuding. “School is in session.”

And Clint took the Marine to school. He shot arrow after arrow, emptying four quivers, he hit the bull’s eye again and again, even putting a giant C on one target. At some points he shot two arrows and others he didn’t even look at the targets as he fired. Bruce was impressed; he’d never seen Clint shoot so openly, he hadn’t realized how amazing his skill was. He knew Clint was special but this was truly stunning. Despite the on and off again breeze, despite the distance changes, despite everything, Clint didn’t miss. He felt like standing up on the chair and pointing to the gaping audience that this was his boy; he’d save Clint the embarrassment though. 

When they started to let Clint skeet shoot with arrows, going so far as launching three and four clay pigeons at a time, he decided to call an end to the show.

“Okay, Clint, we need to get home, you still have homework,” Bruce said, even as the blonde teen groaned. 

“Aww,” Clint moaned, but he packed up the bow. 

John stepped out of the milling crowd and slapped a hand on Clint’s shoulder. He pressed a card into Clint’s hand, “Call me, Mr. Banner, when you’re ready for the military, just give me a ring. That… That was something else.”

Clint gave Bruce a look but nodded politely as he followed Bruce back to their jeep. 

The drive home was quiet. Something was off with Clint, normally he was relaxed and chatty after shooting but Clint had gone tense and worrisome. 

“What’s the matter, Sprocket?” Bruce began.

Clint chewed on his lip, a habit Bruce was hoping to break before Clint worried another hole in his cheek again. Stitches were expensive. 

Clint sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t go to the range anymore?”

Bruce was stunned. Clint loved to shoot. “Why not?”

“Arthur. He said it was fifty but he lied. The amount John gave him was way more than fifty. That was at least five-hundred.”

“You saw him hand him money?”

Clint shrugged. “He tried to do it on the sly but I saw it when they shook hands, it was a stack of hundos.” 

He frowned over at the blonde. “They’re called hundred dollar bills, not hundos. If you don’t want to go back we can find somewhere else for you to shoot. It’s not like you need Arthur. I’m sure I can talk to a few colleagues to see if they’ll let you shoot on their property. All you really need is a large open space.”

A few weeks later, Bruce had cancelled lessons with Arthur and one of the agriculture professors allowed Clint to shoot out on a corner of his farm. On their way home they stopped by the Dairy Queen to get dinner, one of the few meals out Bruce allowed. As they sat at their table, finishing off their hamburgers, a woman, all in black joined them at their table. She pulled a chair against their booth and sat down without so much as a by your leave.

“Hello, Dr. Banner and Mr. Barton, I’m Agent Farns.” She pointed at the younger man standing stiffly behind her. “This is my probationary agent, Agent Coulson.” There was a man at her shoulder, probably a few years younger than Bruce with a neat suit. 

Clint looked worriedly over at Bruce. Shortly after Clint’s adoption, the teen had formally taken Bruce’s name, he was, for all intents and purposes Clinton Francis Banner. At the time he had claimed that he didn’t want any trace of his father and Bruce, after seeing the reports and hearing the nightmares, understood why. For Bruce, it simply erased the questions if this was his son. Going through airport security they didn’t question why he had a son only twelve years younger than him and Bruce wondered if he should be insulted. Clint was never called Mr. Barton anymore, except by the occasional social worker. 

“I’m not here to disrupt your life Mr. Barton. I just want you aware that we have our eye on you. We think you’re something else. It came up the chain of command recently that there was a teenage boy that was shooting like a military sniper… using a bow and arrow. I think they’re wrong. You’re better than any military sniper I’ve seen.”

Bruce looked fierce. “His last name is Banner. What’s this all about? He’s too young for the army or anything else. He just needs to get through high school.”

Agent Coulson handed her a file, she flipped it open and scanned it briefly. 

“And graduating early, congratulations. We’re not here to recruit though. I was sent out to get a gander at your son here. We watched him shoot out in that apple orchard. He doesn’t miss, does he?... This impresses me. It will impress my superiors. I just want you aware you’ve made… an impression. I look forward to speaking with you in the future.”

Agent Farns stood then and with a wave of her fingers, she was gone, her probie right on her heels. 

“What. The Hell. Was that?” Clint asked, staring as the black sedan pulled away. 

“Whatever it was, it wasn’t good.”


	2. Chapter 2

They continued to go out to shoot as scheduled in the orchards surrounding Boston but a few weeks later Clint went to shoot again and as he finished setting up the target, he came back to Bruce, pretending to fiddle with his bow. “Don’t look. An… agent? Like the Men In Black guys from the DQ, are watching from the side road to the east. Should I shoot?”

Bruce didn’t bother to check, he had assumed the MIB would be returning to speak or watch Clint again. He didn’t think it would be fair to Clint to not let him shoot and they already knew about Clint’s talent.

“Just shoot, but we’re going straight home today,” Bruce told him, plopping his science journal in his lap.

Over the next few weeks Clint seemed to become hyper aware of the agents in dark suits. He knew when they were watching him shoot, one time he even pointed them out to Bruce while they were leaving campus.

“Mail!” Clint shouted, coming into the apartment.

“Why do you have to shout mail?” Bruce wondered aloud, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice as he flipped through the stack. “I sent you for the mail. Of course you have mail.”

Clint gave him a tiny shrug, throwing himself on to the couch. “I don’t know. They always do it on TV… and what if I hadn’t had mail, hmm? Then I would say “no mail.” At which point you would ask me the earlier question. Or I could say nothing but that wouldn’t save me from your questions of: “Clint? Where’s the mail? I sent you for it. Did you not do what I asked? Do you want to be grounded?” Then I would have to explain to you how there wasn’t any and you wouldn’t believe me, thinking I was like every other teenager and I lied. So you’d send me to double check and again, there really would be nothing, or maybe there would be something placed there right after I left. Then you would think I was a liar…”

Bruce put Clint in a headlock, gently scrubbing his thick hair with his knuckles. “I would believe you! And how do you have time to come up with all these theories? Wait, I don’t want to know.” He kissed the top of Clint’s head and released him, saying nothing as Clint graoned and tried to “wipe” the kiss from his hair.

“Bruce cooties. I have Bruce cooties now. I’ll need to get my shots again.”

“Ha ha. Very funny.” Bruce frowned when he saw an envelope with Clint’s name on it. It was from a local gun range. He handed the envelope to Clint.

The blonde ripped it open, literally, and read over the contents.

“I won a free lesson at a shooting range,” Clint said, with an air of suspicion. “With a real gun.”

Bruce growled beneath his breath. “You are not using a gun.”

“Do you think this is from the MIB?” Clint asked, still examining the paper work.

“Yeah.”

Bruce spent the rest of the night and time into the wee hours of the morning wondering if any second now someone was going to come around for Clint and offer him something he couldn’t refuse. Clint wasn’t one to want to see the world but he was curious. He even had a few nightmare scenarios where they took Clint away by force. They were the government after all. Could they revoke Bruce's adoption of Clint?

The next morning, over cereal and Clint’s math work, they discussed leaving for Colombia early.

“What do you think of heading to Bogotá early?” Bruce asked.

Clint looked up from his cereal, his hand still scribbling away. “Are you serious?”

“Very. You’re home-schooled, it’s not like it will be a trial to finish up a few weeks in South America. We really just need to submit your graduation papers now. Plus, while we are down there for my research we won’t have much time to do any sight-seeing so a few weeks early will just give us time to explore. There’s a lot to see, hiking, museums, the historical district, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll finally be fluent in Spanish!”

Clint nodded his head. “Let’s go! I can be packed in an hour. I have my grad papers ready. I can mail them from Colombia.”

“Not so fast, Sprocket. We have a week to get prepped. I’ll have to get us a hotel room because the military base won’t be ready for us for another three weeks. I need to make sure I have all your travel paper work in order. And I need to make sure my research is shipped.”

The blonde nodded but Bruce realized he was already tuned out, planning out Bogotá early.

* * *

 

They stepped into the street just outside the airport and found a taxi to take them to the hotel. Clint was extra bouncy this afternoon. Watching the people drive manically around them in all different directions. They were committed now, Bruce had sublet their apartment for the next five months and Clint would be completing college credits while he was here. His research had already been sent to the military instillation and they were ready to do some serious hiking and sight seeing. Bruce had a long list of things meant to wear out the indomitable spirit that was his teenage son but he had a feeling he would be the one exhausted.

When they reached the hotel, they checked in and Clint all but hopped in place, ready to go out and explore. They had agreed to stay off the rooftops here; it was not like America where you were just likely to get yelled at for climbing onto someone’s apartment roof. He could get in serious trouble here.

They went to the market to find some pastelitos and things for the growing teenager to eat between meals. Clint was still shorter than Bruce by a few inches, he’d probably never get taller than Bruce, thanks to years of malnutrition, but he would hopefully be broader. And he was always hungry, thankfully food here was cheaper and Clint could indulge.

He hadn’t realized how blonde Clint was until he was in amongst a sea of dark hair in the market. He could spot Clint a mile away in the crowd. His hair was a dirty blonde but still ten shades lighter than anyone else in the crowd. Bruce stuck close. By the time their bags were full Bruce felt Clint had practiced enough of his Spanish, his accent almost clean enough for him to be thought of as Mexican.

They spent their first week outside the city, hiking up and down the mountains. They had spent a total of two days hiking around Sumapaz Paramo, Bruce stayed along the low lying areas and let Clint climb to the peaks and valleys formed around the moor. The only time Clint had come running back was after he swore he saw a bear and stuck close to Bruce for the next hour.

They had seen snow, Clint had brought him back a handful after he had gone off. They walked along Bogotá River and saw the falls. They meandered through the savannah of Bogotá, where the river levels out. Bruce had an excellent time showing Clint the various plants and their possible medicinal purposes on their hikes, as well as giving him ecological insight into the area known as the Humedales. Clint was very bright, despite what the boy thought of himself, he could listen, repeat, and retain with a precision that highlighted his eidetic memory. Bruce kept that piece of information to himself though. Nobody needed to know about Clint’s skills, except Clint and himself.

“Coffee!” Clint exclaimed as they made their way back into the hotel after a long hike. Bruce found it odd that Clint never seemed to react to caffeine. The boy could drink four cups and fall asleep an hour later. If Bruce took one cup after seven in the evening he was guaranteed to be awake until two AM.

In their second week they made it to La Candeleria, the historic district, Bruce spent hours telling Clint about the history and art of the city and how it had been influenced by the world.

“So across the world at this time there was a revolt against Spain and it’s colonial influence. Here in Colombia the area erupted into a civil war…”

“And they eventually settled their differences, shook hands, and now they’re all nice to each other, can we get to the museum now?”

Clint was unusually excited about the art exhibit, Clint, surprisingly liked art.

“Why is this art exhibit one you actually want to go to?” Bruce questioned as they continued down the street. “You rarely like the ones I take you to in Boston.”

“Because this one has a lot! And plus did you see that museum? I could climb to the top of that thing with my eyes closed!”

Bruce sometimes worried about Clint’s architecture addiction. He evaluated buildings by the challenge it would be to climb, how high they were, and then what he thought of its beauty. “You are not climbing the building, Clint.”

“I never said I was, I just want to look at it up close, see the inside.”

Later that afternoon they had found a restaurant in the Chapinero area and were walking to a taxi stand when a younger man, closer to Clint’s age shouted out at the teenage.

“Hey, blonde and beautiful. Dump your man and come clubbing with me!”

Clint shook his head and stepped closer to Bruce, speeding up his gait. “He’s my dad,” Clint countered.

The brunette followed them a few paces. “Even better, tell him you’ll see him later and we’ll go party it up.”

In the cab, Bruce noticed Clint had blushed bright red.

“He likes you,” Bruce sing-songed.

Clint flipped him off with snark.


	3. Chapter 3

During the entire trip, the only place Clint had refused to go anywhere near was the bullfighting ring. Clint did not like the idea. The younger man was sad every time they drove past a dog loose on the streets. He gave his leftovers at meals to any dog he found, claiming that he wasn’t hungry. Clint spent a lot of money on empanadas, fortunately they were cheap and everywhere. Clint had a special affinity for dessert empanadas, though even questionable beef and cheese was good too.

They spent their days exploring museums and botanical gardens, though occasionally Clint would toss himself down on a bench or some grass while Bruce walked around a historical site. He would tell Clint anything interesting or wave him over. Clint always had a sixth sense about where Bruce was, all he had to do was wave a hand and Clint’s head would snap around and he would be up and trotting to Bruce’s side.

“Clint, come here!” Bruce ordered suddenly.

The teen jumped down and stood close to Bruce’s side as a group of shady looking men walked by. Clint had been warned about human trafficking and they stayed far from any areas that they were warned away from.

“What’s up?” Clint asked, not arguing when Bruce grabbed his hand and pulled him into a more visible area of the plaza.

“They were looking at you too long,” Bruce muttered, staring after the men.

Clint rolled his eyes, “Overprotective, much?”

“You’re my only kid, you can’t blame me,” Bruce said with a rye chuckle, knocking Clint’s shoulder.

In San Diego, Clint had been overjoyed to finally get to see the city from a decent height. They spent the day up there, it was a bit cold but Clint loved the view, snapping photo after photo.

Finally, Bruce’s time to report to the base was up and he packed Clint up and they headed to the lobby of the hotel, where a military jeep waited to take them to the research facility.

General Ross was hoping to recreate a super soldier, like Captain America from World War II, and keeping his new soldier far from the American politicians was his first goal. They had managed to secure a reasonably developed facility near the Andes Mountains, a satellite campus of one of Bogotá’s many universities.

Clint settled in well at the base while Bruce firmly taught him with the rule of stay away from the soldiers. He had free run of the cafeteria and their tiny trailer. He was not to leave the base without Bruce though.

He should’ve really seen it coming, he thought back in the years to follow. Clint was curious, it may as well have been his middle name and it been two months since they had started on the base. The younger soldiers liked having Clint around and treated him like a kid brother.

Clint admired the way the soldier took apart his gun and reloaded it with precision, he idly wondered if he could do it faster as he stepped in the door of their trailer. He passed Bruce on his way to the shower. The older man was hunched over a legal pad, his glasses half way down his nose as he consulted a calculator, three books, and his own whiteboard.

“Why do you smell like gun powder?”

Clint tried not to groan out loud but could barely stop himself. “I went down to the range with one of General Ross’ guys. I didn’t shoot, I swear. There was no one to talk to today in the mess and he offered…” Clint trailed off at the murderous look on Bruce’s face.

“I’m sorry!” Clint pleaded. “I know why you don’t want me around those guys but they aren’t bad. Davies even has his degree in computers, I was just talking to them.”

Bruce rubbed his forehead. “Those guys are dangerous. I don’t trust them. Okay? I don’t want the MIB popping up down here and I don’t want to have to worry about leaving you alone anymore. Get it?”

“Got it.” Clint mumbled, sullen.

“Good… Now, please, get a shower. You’ll be in the lab with me for tomorrow to reinforce my no-gun rule.”

“Daaaaaaddd,” Clint moaned.

Bruce only raised an eyebrow and Clint sighed, walking away..

In the morning, Clint wasn’t allowed to sleep in like he normally did, instead glumly getting to his feet and following Bruce out.

“Don’t be so grumpy,” Bruce said as he shoved a pastry and orange juice into Clint’s hand. “I’m almost ready to conduct my experiment. Do you at least want to see that?”

The younger man gave him a pathetic grin. “Yes, but only between Clint Working Hours from 10 AM to 4 PM… or as these guys would say ten hundred hours to sixteen hundred hours.”

“You’re never going to get a job if those are your working hours,” Bruce laughed.

“I plan to be a pirate… with a degree in aerodynamics,” he amended with Bruce’s raised eyebrow.

Clint spent hours rolling back and forth on a stool as he waited for Bruce to finish or take a lunch break. In the center of the room there was a large tank and Bruce was once again testing the mixture. It had to be the exact right combination of plutonium and solution.

Clint had watched enough of Bruce’s research to know they were trying to irradiate a slurry of potential serum to create the super soldier serum from Dr. Erksine’s experiments. Gamma radiation was dangerous, Clint was a little nervous being around it all, especially after Bruce had educated him on nuclear accidents and why there was safety protocols in place. Clint followed them to the letter.

Ross stomped in then, he was angry again, at Bruce, at the team, anybody really. “When will this shit be ready, Banner? I came down to see something!”

“Like it states in my research, the numerous notes, and memos I’ve sent you, this will take a few days. We are about three days out from the experiment being ready. We don’t have the right mixer for the paddle either. The neutron shield is just finished and…”

General Ross glared harder, if that was possible. “Speed it up, Banner. There’s a perfectly fine paddle in that stupid tank and the more plutonium the better. Just shut it off when it gets too much. I thought you were a genius?”

Bruce grumbled as General Ross stomped out again, “Idiot.”

“Lunch?” Clint offered with a grin.

The brunette nodded, “Lunch.”

* * *

 

In the mess hall, Clint and Bruce quietly ate their sandwiches, both caught up in their thoughts as Betty Ross sat down next to Bruce.

“Heya, Bruce.” She winked across the table at Clint.

Clint grinned and dug into his fruit cup with his fingers, switching to a spork under Bruce’s glare.

“Hi, Betty,” Bruce began. Bruce and Betty had a different relationship, Bruce had “stayed late” at Betty’s a few nights and Clint had caught the older man staring at her when she worked in his lab, much to Clint’s delight. The two scientists had bonded over the few months they’d been in Colombia but Bruce wasn’t sure where it was actually going. The sex was fun but they rarely had time to socialize anywhere other than lunch and Betty’s trailer/lab. He had had few relationships since taking Clint in and Betty seemed to fulfill the emotional and physical needs he had while still leaving him plenty of room to be a parent to son.

“You know, they’re going to be showing a movie, one of the ones still in theatre here tomorrow night. Popcorn, hotdogs, you should join me,” she said.

Bruce nodded, maybe a bit too eagerly. “Sounds good.”

“Bruce and Betty, sittin’ in a tree,” Clint sang softly, smiling into his fruit cup. “…K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes…”

“First comes you not getting to see the daylight for a week,” Bruce finished for him.

Cling laughed but nodded. “I’ll just go talk to the guys… or get another sandwich. I’ll see you in the lab.”

The older man scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry about that, he’s a…”

“He’s cute,” Betty told him. “You can’t stop him if he’s like every other teenager his age. He just graduated high school, right?”

They spent a few minutes talking over various plans for upcoming experiments when Betty interrupted him, “I’m curious though, I thought we finalized the amount of plutonium you were going to use to irradiate the samples. Why did you change it? Something come up in the calculations?”

Bruce’s eyebrows rose. “When? I haven’t changed it since we spoke last week. I’m still working out the level of shielding we will need.”

Betty frowned. “My dad said you guys were adding plutonium and moving up the timeline. He said you were ready. Gino and I just added more plutonium to the slurry.”

He dropped his sandwich and ran for the exit, Betty right behind him. His legs were longer and used to running with a teenage boy so he beat her into the lab, slamming through the layers of protection without heed.

General Ross was there, with one of the site’s technicians.

“What are you doing?!” Bruce hollered, enraged.

“We’ve just initialized the final stages for the turn spout. Levels are evening out and we’ll be going forward in thirty,” the technician said absentmindedly, he was watching the mixture on camera.

Bruce yelled at the man, “You’re an idiot. That mixture is more likely to go critical than to do anything useful. Turn it off.”

He saw Clint on the other side of the door, rolling around on his stool. “Why’s Clint in there?!” he exclaimed, punching in the code to enter the lab.

General Ross looked over at Bruce. “Oh, I told him to keep an eye on his daddy’s experiment for me. You know… I’ve noticed that boy would be a great candidate for the next Steve Rogers. I hear he's quite the marksman.”

Without thought he opened the doors to the lab and grabbed Clint’s arm. “Get out, right now,” he fumed at the teenager. Clint looked stunned and a little hurt as he ran from the room. Bruce turned to his equipment to figure out a way to shut it down before it went critical.


	4. Chapter 4

The room flashed as Clint ran out of the second barrier. It was so bright it nearly blinded him and he saw spots. When his eyesight returned, he turned around to look behind him but he saw neither his dad nor anyone else. 

“Clint? What happened?” Betty said, just coming through the third door. 

The teen shrugged, his default response. “I don’t know, everything was okay then Dad got mad and told me to get out and shut the door and then the room flashed.”

Betty punched in her code for the doors and she saw her dad unconscious on the floor beside the technician. She ran to help him.

Clint looked to where he had last seen Bruce… but it wasn’t Bruce. His skin was molted. He looked almost swollen. He hit the button to open the door and ran to Bruce’s side. 

“Dad? Bruce? Wake up!” Clint called, shaking the older man. 

The man groaned, and then screamed. His skin stretched and his body morphed, Clint was sure he was having a nightmare. That was the only possibility. The thing… Dad?... got taller and larger by the second, finally roaring and slamming his fists into the ground, he launched skyward, slamming against the ceiling twice before bursting out. 

Clint ducked as metal, concrete, lead, and dry wall rained from the sky. He let the dust settle then crawled from beneath the worktable. He followed Bruce out of the room, jumping from the table to the rebar that hung from the ceiling before pulling himself through the hole. On the roof, he saw the carnage below. There was his dad, maybe, or a large green man, that had grabbed a few of the military trucks. Tossing them like they were toys. He was enraged at something and screaming bloody murder. 

Clint shouted, hoping to be heard above the roar, “Bruce! DAD!” He yelled over and over again, until his throat hurt. 

“DAAADDD!” he sobbed out, his loudest and most plaintive cry.

The green man turned and stomped towards Clint, reaching out he tried to grab the teen but Clint dodged, ducking away from his outstretched hand. He jumped, turning in mid-air to roll safely to his feet and ran near a few military trucks. He hoped to stay low, make himself a non-target within the mass of toys. The green man-thing followed him batting jeeps out of his way. 

When the shooting began, Clint ducked beneath a nearby jeep. They were shooting! It just seemed to enrage the man-beast behind him. It leapt again. Clint heard noises he though he would never hear again and sounds he’d already heard too many times to begin with. The screams of humans, the wet sound of flesh hitting flesh, it was like his childhood had come to life again. In his mind, he was curled up in the top cabinet of his old room’s closet, not hiding beneath a Humvee. He heard the howling of pained humans and things thrown violently. He wanted his dad. 

The sounds stopped for a while and he felt the earth shake as something lumbered towards his space. A tank? Had a tank taken down Bruce… green-guy?

The Humvee he was under tilted, crashing to the ground on the other side. He scrambled to his feet while backing away and holding his hands up. He hoped this creature wasn’t in the mood to squash him too. 

He looked up, deep green eyes staring back at him. The creature shrunk and shrunk and shrunk, until it was just his dad. Just little Bruce Banner. 

Clint grabbed his dad, hugging him close as he let out a sob. Bruce was here, maybe, he wasn’t sure, but his dad’s body was here. He sobbed into Bruce’s hair, he’d rarely been so scared. He’d thought his dad dead, a monster in his place. 

He pulled himself together. What were they going to do now? There was no noise, no sound, at all. Clint dragged Bruce to the nearest jeep, tossing him in. He ignored the fact that his dad was… naked. He giggled a little hysterically instead. 

He ran to their trailer and grabbed their go-bag, the one Bruce had insisted they pack in case of emergency. He grabbed water, whatever food they already had, money, and extra clothes for Bruce. He took a second canvas bag and ran outside, he deposited his cache in the jeep and went to the armory. There was a hole torn in the room, weapons scattered like sprinkles. He grabbed two rifles, a 9mm, and enough ammo to mount a revolution and ran. 

Reaching into the back of the truck he found an orange waffle blanket and covered Bruce in it. He started up the jeep and slowly drove amongst the carnage towards the front gates, it was a longer drive, the compound was huge. 

There was chaos at the front gate when he pulled up.

“Nobody in or out!” the man shouted at the radio. Clint stopped at the gate and waited.

“Please! I need to get my dad to a doctor, he’s hurt and the Medic trailer is smashed to hell.” 

The man sighed, “Clint, you are too young to be out driving by yourself. Wait until we can get evac in here.” 

Clint shook his head. “No, my dad said get him to a hospital, there’s one in Villavicencio. I’m going.”

“Clint, I can’t let you go,” the lieutenant repeated. “You and you!” he shouted over Clint’s head. “Go find the general, get our orders.”

The teenager knew if General Ross sent the orders along Clint and Bruce would never be released. He reached between the seats and held the gun carefully between his hands, so that only the lieutenant could see it. “Let me out or I shoot you and hit the gate button anyway.”

The man hit the button. Clint waited until the gate door slid open all the way before he put the gun down and hit the gas, weaving down the road away from the compound. The road to Villavicencio was closer but he knew Bogotá better, with any luck he’d lose them until Bruce came around and he could figure out what to do. He was careful on the drive, he’d never driven the car before, except a few times Barney and Buck had let him drive a car around their circus lots before leaving for the next performance. At sixteen, Clint had never seen the use of a drivers license but he was an expert at video games and go-karts, so how much different was a car?

When they passed into Chipaque, Bruce seemed to be coming around. Clint sighed in relief as they pulled on to the side road. 

“What happened?” Bruce gasped, coming back to himself. 

Clint’s eyes teared up. How could he explain? “You… I don’t know. We have to go though.”

Bruce looked stunned. “What? Why?” 

“You don’t remember anything?” Clint asked. 

Bruce shook his head. “Tell me.”

He looked out the window and shook his head. “I can’t. I just… I can’t, Dad. It was bad. It was really bad. Trust me. We have to go.”

“Okay, let’s go. We’ll figure it out as we drive,” Bruce agreed, reading Clint’s face. “Just one question: Why… am I naked?”

“Your clothes… they fell off,” Clint answered, as he pulled back onto the road. 

“When did you learn to drive?” Bruce asked. 

“You said one question,” Clint reminded him.

_______________________________________________________________________

 

They were just passing through the “Enter the Clouds” National Park when Clint heard choppers overhead. Sure enough, two of them began to drop down and landed in the road in front of them. Three more circled overhead and Clint halted the vehicle over a hundred feet away. Out stepped one of the base commanders and two sergeants, guns drawn and pointed at them. The other helicopter emptied just as quickly. 

“Put those down,” Bruce shouted. “You don’t point guns at my kid!”

And then it was happening again, Bruce fell out of the jeep, and Clint couldn’t watch as the green man shaped again. He formed; his roar deafening as he charged towards the helicopters, hurling one as far as he could. Clint covered his ears as the roaring and gunfire continued. It seemed to go on for hours at one point a rocket hit the green guy, which just seemed to anger him. Nothing stopped him. 

He closed his eyes as the crews of the helicopters were throttled into the brush. When he heard the deafening crack of trees he looked up, the monster was leaping and smashing before the smashing stopped again and the quiet was echoing. He climbed from the jeep, grabbing their backpacks before heading into the forest. He followed the trail of destroyed trees and flattened vegetation. He searched for an hour, before finding Bruce curled up on the ground. He dropped down beside the man and closed his eyes. He kept the 9mm in his grip as he waited for Bruce’s eyes to open again. 

He must have fallen asleep because soon Bruce, freshly dressed, was waking him up. It was getting dark now. 

“That happened again, huh?” Dad asked, tying up his boots. 

Clint nodded. “What do you remember?”

“They put two of the helicopters down. You were next to me. They pointed guns at you, at a kid… at MY kid…” Bruce felt his hands shake and looked down in time to see them shade to green before going back to normal. He nearly vomited. He was hunched over and breathing hard when his vision cleared. He sat up and saw Clint in front of him. 

“What’s happening to me?” he heaved, his eyes watering.

“I don’t know, Dad. You’re the physicist! Isn’t that the study of how the world works?” Clint explained helplessly. “One minute you’re Bruce Banner and the next you’re a giant green guy, running around in ripped up pants… or naked… and then you’re back to being Bruce Banner… and still naked.”

Bruce laughed darkly, “Kind of focused on that naked thing?”

Clint’s eyes goggled in his head. “Well, yeah, a giant green naked man kind of grabs my attention. Then having to drag his naked ass into the car really makes it awkward.”

“Sorry,” Bruce told him. “I’m starving though. You must be too.”

The teen nodded eagerly, fishing around in the go-bag for some protein bars. He took a long drink of water and chugged down the protein bar before getting back to his feet. 

“Where did you get this?” Bruce asked, holding up the handgun. 

Clint grimaced. “I needed it. We had to get off base… I’m sorry.”

Surprised beyond belief Clint took the gun when Bruce held it back from him. “If the green guy comes after you, I expect you to use this. Do you understand me?” 

The younger man shook his head fiercely. “I will not… Even if I did it doesn’t seem to do much. One of the ‘copters had a rocket launcher. It did nothing. He took bullet after bullet after bullet. He even got hit with a helicopter rotor. Nothing.”

Bruce sighed. 

“What do we do now?” Clint asked. 

Bruce looked around at the piles of stuff they had. “I have a feeling the US Government is looking for us. We need to fly out of here. We’ll hike to Bogotá and figure it out from there.”

Clint hefted up his fair share of the bags and started to trek out, he kept a firm grip on his gun as he followed Bruce down the mountains. It was a hard trek in the dark, flashlights, and Clint’s vision helped a stumbling Bruce but they were exhausted before they had even cleared the tree line. 

Bruce told Clint to stop and lay down, the boy was exhausted and he collapsed to the ground, curling into a ball, and fell asleep within minutes. Bruce held the handgun in one loose grip as he waited. Once the sun began to crack over the horizon Bruce shook Clint awake. 

“Not yet, Dad,” he pleaded, sleepily. “I’m so tired.”

He shook the boy harder. “Get up, Clint. We need to get to Bogotá today.”

The teenager rolled to his feet, stretching and hopping around. “Did you sleep?” he asked Bruce. 

“I’m okay,” Bruce confirmed. “Let’s get down to the city.”

They were just able to see the tops of the city when Clint stopped in his tracks. Dotting the edges of the city were tanks. He knew Bruce wouldn’t be able to see them without his glasses, but he would soon. 

“Tanks, Dad. And I hear helicopters.” 

“Back to the tree line,” Bruce urged, following Clint back into the forest. 

On a rock just on the side of a stream they sat back to back and tried to figure out what to do. Bruce sighed when he had made up his mind. 

“Clint… I need you to go to Bogotá, there’s enough money to get you a flight back to the States.”

Clint looked over at him, his mouth open. “You want to leave me?”

“No. Never. But I can’t take you to do this. You could be hurt… killed. I can’t have that. Social Services will protect you in the US. You do whatever they say.”

“No! I’m not leaving and you can’t make me!” Clint shouted, he sounded for all the world like a teenager. 

Bruce begged, “You have to, Clint. You’re just a kid. I can’t… I can’t hurt you. Please. Go.”

The boy stared stubbornly at the ground. “I won’t. Ever.”

Bruce got angry then, “Clint I am telling you to go! Do what I tell you! Now!”

“No!” Clint yelled back.

“God damn it, Clint! Do it…” Bruce collapsed with a growl, his body shifting, Clint raced to grab Bruce’s shoes off as the man exploded. 

He got out of the way as the giant jumped to his feet. The hulking man roared, spittle flying, then he leaned close looking Clint in the eyes, snorting. He smashed the ground beside Clint but nothing else happened. He was angry but he didn’t so much as breathe too hard on the teen. The green man paced away before returning and gently picking up the frightened teenager, settling down with the boy in his lap. 

Clint’s head banged off the giant’s chest as he was held close, and it hurt, but nothing more. The green man suddenly shrank and Clint was sprawled in the dirt with Bruce, naked again. Bruce came awake quicker this time; he was only asleep twenty minutes.

“You can try to send me away but it’s not going to work! I will follow you, and since you are half-blind without your dorky glasses, you’re going to have a hell of a time! Also, I’m more athletic and just generally more action hero then you so, I win.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes and stood up, groaning when his pants fell down in tatters around his feet. He dug around in his bag to find a pair of running shorts.

“Thanks for getting my shoes off,” Bruce mumbled, pulling them out of the grass.

Clint shrugged. “One of the many reasons you can’t get rid of me.”

“I’m not trying to get rid of you. I’m trying to protect you.”

“Same difference!” Clint growled. 

Bruce was going to retort when he felt a gunshot pass through him and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope people are still reading! I know it's taking a while but I promise we are getting there. 
> 
> School starts this week for me so today I say goodbye to the beach. It's kind of depressing but I'll be back in a month or so. :(


	5. Chapter 5

Clint screamed when a fist-sized hole appeared in Bruce’s chest but suddenly he was staring at the green man’s chest and he was pissed. He whirled around and leapt, swatting the low running helicopter from the sky as it approached. 

Clint grabbed his gun up and looked for the man who shot Bruce, he was dashing through the grass and Clint pulled the trigger before he could think too hard. The man went down. He consolidated his bag into one, tightly packing the bag with Bruce’s remaining clothes and their supplies. He exchanged the handgun for the assault rifle and followed in the path of the giant. His gun was held tightly in his grip as he scooted along the line of the jungle. In the distance, he could see Bruce/Green Guy taking on the artillery fire of the attacking tanks. Bruce would come back for him, he repeated to himself as the man got farther and father away. Bruce would come get him. 

He kept believing that, even as the morning turned into the afternoon. 

It was turning into a late afternoon when Clint heard a faint voice on the wind. “Clint?” it called. “Clint?” he heard again.

“Bruce?” he yelled back.

“Clint!” it floated on the wind again. It did not sound like Bruce. Clint cursed himself for answering.

A man, and then many men came into view in the distance. “Clint, Bruce is in custody. He sent us to pick you up. We need you to come with us.”

How in the heck had they gotten Bruce in custody? A bullet couldn’t pierce his skin, a needle couldn’t… chains wouldn’t be able to stop him. Did they have a whale sit on him?

“What’s the password?” he called. Bruce had a word they used to show that this person was safe to pick Clint up, if they didn’t know it, Clint wasn’t supposed to go with them. It was a hard and fast rule. 

The men were approaching quickly and Clint backpedaled. “He was unconscious, he didn’t tell us a password.”

“You just said he sent you. Is he unconscious or not?” Clint turned and ducked out of view behind the trees. He watched from the darkness as they pulled their weapons. 

“Come out now, Clinton,” the older man ordered. “Now.”

No one called him Clinton. He tightened the go-bag on his back and climbed the nearest tree. He was at the top before the men could see him. Then he started taking pot shots. He purposely didn’t hit the guys, he shot the dirt around them, making them dance and jump out of the way. They couldn’t pin point where he was, so they had a hard time nailing him down. He was thankful for the dense foliage and tightly packed trees as he climbed to the next tree, shuffling quietly along in the afternoon. He nearly sighed in relief when he heard the roar of Green Bruce in the distance. He listened as the pounding came closer and closer. The trees shook as Green Bruce pushed them out of the way and Clint slid to the ground dodging out of the way as Green Bruce knocked a tree down around him. 

“Bruce!” he shouted, as the man/monster sniffed the air comically. It reminded Clint of the bears that broke into cars, pushing things out of the way in search of the smell they were looking for.

The chopper overhead made Green Bruce growl and Clint was swept into Bruce’s arm like a teddy bear. Green Bruce crashed through the trees and Clint was smacked with tree limbs and leaves, as they moved. The gun on the helicopter began to shoot and Bruce leapt straight into the air, sending it veering wildly out of control as it turned to avoid the collision. 

Clint was not afraid of heights; his hours spent on their fire escape and jumping across roofs were proof of that. But he was frightened of free flying through the air and hitting the ground. They landed with a jarring thud, Clint wrapped an arm around the arm bracing him so that he had something to hold onto. It wasn’t as bad as he anticipated. It made his teeth rattle in his head but he compensated, bracing himself for each blow. They launched off the ground over and over again, he finally was brave enough to look out and away from the bicep he had his face pressed into and out towards the late afternoon sky. They were covering probably a hundred miles in one jump, it made Clint queasy when he thought of it. It was less like jumping and more like flying. They were moving south as far as Clint could tell. After almost an hour Green Bruce slowed down, his jumps not as high nor as far. 

Eventually the man stopped, and seemed to collapse after he dropped Clint unceremoniously on the ground. He shrunk again and all that was left was Bruce. Clint scouted around and found a place to sleep for the night. His first priority was feeding them both then to get a fire going; he was cold and tired. He pulled on a sweatshirt and fished out another protein bar and thought back to a few short to thirty-six hours ago. He had been having breakfast with his dad, discussing his grounding for going down to the shooting range. Now he was on the run from the US Army and had killed a man. He was a certified bad ass. 

Bruce groaned and came awake. “Clint?!” he asked frantically.

“Right here, Bruce,” he called.

“Thank God. I… Did he… the other guy… did he pick you up?”

Clint nodded. “Oh, yeah, we went flying.”

The man shot to his feet and ran over, checking him over. He ran hands across Clint’s hair and looked at his hands. “I’m fine, dad, fine! I’m shaken not stirred. Put some pants on.”

Bruce pulled on a pair of jogging shorts, pretty much the only clothes he had left and tied on his shoes. 

“So, I think I’ve figured it out,” Clint began. He was an observant person by nature and he’d been trying to match the Green Guy to Bruce Banner. “Every time you get pissed or injured, you go green.”

He nodded back at his son. “I’ve noticed.”

“Where do you think we are?” Clint asked. “I saw lights in the distance but I’m not sure where we are exactly.”

Bruce shrugged. “How far do you estimate we leapt with each jump?”

He thought about that for a minute. “We were heading south and east as far as I could tell, more south than east, and traveling maybe 120 miles with every jump. We hung up for about three minutes or so with every leap.”

“So where does that put us?” Bruce asked. 

“Um, Brazil?” Clint asked sheepishly. 

Bruce frowned at him. “You are smarter than that. Where?”

“Possibly near Paraguay or São Paolo, Brazil?”

“Finish your evaluation…” Bruce insisted. 

Clint rolled his eyes but kept going. “We’ll be able to figure it out probably just by talking to a local. They’ll be able to tell us but since that might sound suspicious, if they speak Portuguese they are probably from Brazil; if they speak Spanish it’s more likely we’re in Paraguay. It will be better if we are in Brazil. They probably have an international airport.”

He patted Clint on the shoulder. “Much better,” he complimented. 

_______________________________________________________________________

 

The next morning Clint took apart the assault rifle while Bruce watched from the side. Each time he removed a piece he threw it away, into the river, into the forest, and he buried the ammo. No one needed the gun anymore.

“How did you learn to do that?” Bruce questioned.

Clint hurled the firing spring away. “I watched, Dad.”

They hiked into a nearby village, Bruce wore Clint’s sweatshirt to hide his lack of clothes. They instantly went to find a clothes seller. There wasn’t much of a selection but they managed to find pants and shirts that fit Bruce, buying them with one of Bruce’s watches. 

A few of the ladies softly brushed Clint’s thick hair, marveling out how blonde it was. It had only brightened in the South American sun, making Clint stick out. 

It turns out they were in Brazil and very close to São Paulo. Bruce still had plenty of money and they needed to get into the city to exchange it. They managed to get a ride from one of the locals into São Paulo. Clint gave the man’s sons English lessons on the ride in. 

Once at the local market, Clint and Bruce slipped from the back of the truck. Much to Bruce’s consternation Clint had kept the handgun stowed in his bag. 

They both feigned being hikers, buying hats and sunglasses to disguise themselves as they melted into the crowd. Their first priority was to find a way out of the country. 

Bruce sighed to himself. He couldn’t believe he was dragging his son into this. It took them days to find a ship willing to smuggle them to Europe, Portugal exactly. They would have to stay hidden on board during inspection and they were on their own to find a way to sneak off into the country. For the first two days aboard the ship Clint was seasick, but he worked for the men without complaint. He refused to let Bruce work, worried that he would be injured and ‘go green’ at sea. They weren’t even sure the other guy could swim. 

Bruce helped out as best he could, treating wounds and helping out with the food. Clint came back after hours of work, his arms sore and limp, as he curled up on their pallet. Bruce condemned himself as possibly the worst parent in the world. When time came for them to unload Bruce went first, though Clint argued heartily to be allowed to go first. He was faster and wouldn’t be caught as easily he had argued. Clint was more terrified that if Bruce went first he would find a way to sneak off into the country and leave him. He knew Bruce wasn’t happy that Clint had refused to leave but Clint thought it was an admirable trait. Bruce hadn’t left Clint when there had been space in a shelter, instead adopting Clint as his own, why should he leave Bruce?

After the allotted ten minutes Clint climbed down the side of the ship and moved through the port, looking for Bruce. He made it down the side streets, blending in the group of ship hands he had worked with on their way to the bar. Once clear, he slipped away and waited for Bruce. He didn’t have to wait long, the older man had taken longer than expected but he was walking from the opposite direction, moving at a nonchalant pace away from the ship’s docking point. He stepped out to join Bruce and they slipped into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So despite the fact that this girl got the new standards a WEEK before she was supposed to teach them and with NO knowledge of the curriculum and the curriculum she does know being OBSOLETE: I am still alive. My kids are a joy. My new grade "partner"? A joy killer. Everyday I'm making up new curriculum or downloading, pinteresting, or Googling things to meet the standards. I can't wait until they get us some relevant curriculum and all my room's technology is working. 
> 
> But... my kids are wonderful. 
> 
> For all the readers, yes, the next part IS written and pretty much finished it just needs a bit of polish.

**Author's Note:**

> As a side note to all the wishers: There is NO Jane. Very little Bruce/Betty. No Tony. Very little Phil. 
> 
> And so that you all can get ready. I'm a slash girl. :)


End file.
